


Enter the Embrace

by DaveSalvatore



Category: Original Work
Genre: Dark Fantasy, F/F, F/M, Gen, Gothic, Horror, M/M, Multi, Urban Fantasy, Vampire Sex, Vampires, Witches
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-05
Updated: 2020-04-27
Packaged: 2021-03-01 04:35:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,728
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23499127
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DaveSalvatore/pseuds/DaveSalvatore
Summary: What you are about to read is real. I am writing this journal as a warning to others. I don’t know how long I will be able to keep recording these strange events that are happening to me, but someone needs to know what is happening.I am not a freak, a drug addict or a fantasy geek. I am a computer software salesman; I am married and have three children. What is happening to me now is something torn from the pages of a horror novel, but it’s no novel…it’s what is happening to me.
Kudos: 3





	1. The Morning After

What have I done? I can’t believe it. After sixteen years of marriage, the last ten spent as a traveling salesman, I have never been unfaithful to my wife. Never, that is, until last night.

The last twelve hours have been very strange and I’m not sure that I can trust my memory to tell me what is real and what is fantasy. I’m starting this journal to keep track of my thoughts until I can figure what, exactly, is going on.

It started last night in a New Orleans bar.

This week began like most others. I left Philadelphia late Sunday night to fly to New Orleans for a big software convention. As always when flying to New Orleans, I brought an Anne Rice novel to read on the plane to get me in the mood.

I met David and Harry, two other sales representatives from my company, at the hotel. The software convention starts today, Tuesday, and is supposed to run until this Thursday. We spent yesterday morning and most of the afternoon setting up our booth and then went back to our rooms to prepare for a night of wining and dining old clients and potential buyers.

This is how we ended up at the Hurricane Bar on Bourbon Street, where I met Marie.

After ten years of traveling all over the world, I have met many beautiful women. And, while I never had the urge to stray from my wife, the salesman in me can’t help but talk, and flirt, with most women I find myself in the company of.

Marie was a pretty girl. I say girl because she looked so young. I would have said she was eighteen at best, but since she had no problem walking into the bar or getting served a drink, I figured she had to be a little bit older.

Her clothing was simple, yet on her it looked exquisite, if not exotic. A simple white silk peasant blouse with a low, square neck had sleeves that gathered at the elbow and an elastic band around the waist, just above the hem of her long, black silk skirt that reached almost to her ankles. Beneath the skirt was a pair of black leather boots with heels. The tops of the boots were not visible, but wondering just how far up they went stirred the imagination…and a few other things as well.

Her skin was very white which contrasted with the black hair that hung to the middle of her back and appeared to be made of the same material as the blouse and skirt. Her features looked Middle Eastern, possibly even Egyptian, but that didn’t go with the pale white skin.

She stood with her back to the bar staring out at the crowds, looking like she was on a New Jersey boardwalk staring at the ocean.

In her hand was a red drink with a stick of celery protruding from the rim. As I watched her, I felt drawn to her. I felt the need to start a conversation with her just so I could hear her voice and feel the weight of her eyes looking at me.

I shook my head and shifted myself on the stool to make room for the slightly enlarging visitor tucked away in my pants. What was wrong with me? I was feeling like a college freshman at his first frat party looking at the upperclassman co-ed and dreaming of what if.

I was about to turn away to say something to Harry who was sitting next to me when I saw her drop her napkin from under her drink. I felt the urge to rush over and grab it like some medieval night picking up the hankie of the fair maiden.

Luckily, before I completely embarrassed myself, she moved to pick it up herself. As she bent over, I sat back to stare. The thin material of her skirt went taught over her backside showing a small, perfectly formed, heart shaped rear. Her blouse rode up just a bit to reveal the bright colors of a tattoo low on the small of her back.

While I may look like an uptight, starched shirt business man, I do have a hidden passion for tattoos. I have almost a dozen various tattoos strategically placed about my person that can be easily concealed while wearing most suits and business casual outfits.

Besides my wife and kids who see me in various stages of dress around the house, most people know nothing of the artwork unless they get a glance of it in the locker room at the YMCA.

The tattoos are all of a Druidic theme of knots and vines to honor not only my Irish heritage, but the wishes of my grandmother. My grandmother is a devout woman who attended mass daily, but mixed her Catholic beliefs along with various forms of fortune telling, hexing and general good luck charms so that she could be best described as the Irish version of a gypsy.

While I keep my tattoos private, I make it a point to admire other people’s body art when I can. The small flash of color and design below the hem of her skirt was just enough to pique my interest and to give me a reason to talk to her.

I approached her. She turned to look at me as if I were nothing but a curiosity. I pointed to her drink and said, “Isn’t it a little late in the day for a Bloody Mary or did you just get up?”

The corners of her mouth twitched ever so slightly up in what may have been a smile as she said, “This is a special drink that François makes just for me.”

I looked to the bar to see a tall, thin bartender dressed all in black whose long, greasy hair and white skin left you with the feeling that he needed to spend some more time in the sun and the shower. The name tag on his shirt read François.

I turned back to her and said, “I couldn’t help but notice that tattoo on your back. I didn’t get a very good look at it, but it seemed very intricate. What is it?”

She looked at me and asked, “Do you always ask complete strangers such personal questions?”

Taken back, I began to stutter, “No, I mean, I didn’t mean to...”

“All I meant,” she broke in, “was that I don’t even know your name.”

Her voice was like honey pouring from the hive. Her accent was a mixture of French and the Deep South, but nothing like the Creole accent I was used to hearing when in Louisiana. It was much more exotic.

“Mike,” I said stupidly, “Mike Murphy,” feeling more and more like that college freshman again rather than the thirty nine year old man that I was.

“Well Michael, I don’t share my tattoo with just anyone. I will, however, share a dance.” She took the celery stick out of her glass. The red drink clung to it heavily.

Slowly and seductively, she lowered the celery into her mouth while never losing eye contact with me. The sudden “snap” of the celery as she bit down and cleanly sliced it in two, was enough to make me jump and send a phantom pain to my lower regions.

She put down her glass, turned and walked to the dance floor, with just a bit of that tattoo showing. This is where I made my real mistake…I followed.

We danced for what seemed like hours, though I can’t be sure since I lost all track of time.

I seemed to be in a spell and was ready and willing to do anything that Marie desired or commanded.

The next thing I know, I was sitting on my bed in the hotel room. She stood in front of me, staring with those gray eyes.

“So, you really want to see my artwork?”

All I could do was nod. I wasn’t sure what I was doing or if I had control of myself.

Without fanfare, she pulled the blouse straight over her head. She wore no bra, yet there was no movement of her breasts. They hung there, turning upward in the way of only the young.

With a pull of a string, the skirt dropped to the ground to pool around her ankles. She wore no panties.

Her skin was white and smooth as cream. I sat in a daze, not sure what to do. She walked forward, grabbed my head and pulled it to her stomach.

Her skin was as smooth as the silk clothing that had been covering it moments before. There was a perfumed smell coming from her skin that I recognized but could not place.

I reached up and grabbed her hip and began to kiss her stomach. She shuddered and pulled away.

“I thought you wanted to see my tattoo,'' she said. Her gray, sultry eyes looked like those of a predator about to devour its prey.

She slowly turned around. Her hair was thrown over one shoulder covering it entirely. Her backside was right in front of me and I had an up-close view of that object that had caught and held my attention in the club; the tattoo, not the backside.

It was like nothing I had ever seen before. The colors were brilliant and seemed to swim in the milk that was her skin. The contrast was stunning.

The design is something that, thankfully, I’ll never forget. It was a silver and gold dagger running right down the line of her spine, pointing down with the tip of the blade stopping short of the top of her rear. The handle of the dagger was in the shape of a fan with beautiful etchings and a wave like design moving throughout it. Wrapped around the blade was a thorny vine leading up to a blood red rose near the top of the handle.

I traced my finger around the design which forced a fierce shudder from her. “What is it?” I asked.

She turned to me and said, “You could say it’s a family symbol”.

Before I could ask more, she pushed me to the bed and began pulling off my clothes.

Our love making was frantic and forceful with Marie taking complete control to try to satisfy what appeared to be an unsatiable appetite for sex. That recognizable scent seemed to pour out of her in her sweat, thoughI still couldn’t place where I knew it from.

She climaxed hard and loud within minutes, then slowed her movements and smiled down at me. I dumbly smiled back as my hands found her breasts and began to massage them. She bent down and began to kiss my neck. The kisses became nibbles. Suddenly, a strange feeling went through me as I realized that she had broken the skin on my neck. I didn't feel any pain, but I could feel her teeth sunk into my skin and a sticky, warm stream running down my neck.

“What are you doing?” I yelled as I pushed her up.

What looked down at me nearly stopped my heart. Blood was dripping from her lips. The gray eyes had become tinted with red so that the look of the predator she showed earlier now took on the un-human look of a monster.

Scared for my life, I tried to push her tiny body off of me, but she clamped her knees on either side of my hips and I couldn’t move. She smiled and continued to ride me.

Frightened, I continued to struggle, but there was nothing I could do.

Suddenly, a knife appeared in her hand. Where it had been, I don’t know but now all I could think of was that this was the end of my life and I’ll never see my family again.

I was half right with that thought.  
She turned the knife on herself and sliced the skin of her left breast. Blood began to pool in the wound.

I stared, horrified. Marie grabbed my head and pulled my face to her breast. I fought but she only laughed and rode me harder. My body betrayed me in release and as I filled her, her blood filled my mouth and throat.

It was at that point that I sat up and screamed. My head swam and my stomach did flips in protest of my sudden movements. I was alone in bed, obviously the victim of an extreme nightmare.

It was all a dream, Marie was never here, we never made love and she never pulled out a knife.

Then I noticed the smell. The room was filled with the scent of sex and I had that post-copulation sticky feeling about me. It wasn’t all a dream.

If the sex was real, then what else was real? I ran to the bathroom to inspect my neck and shoulders. No cuts, no bite marks…that part was a dream.

I wasn’t feeling well. I lay back in bed to take inventory of myself.

My head was pounding and all of my muscles were sore. My skin was tingling and where it came in contact with the sheets it actually felt like sandpaper was being rubbed against me. Lastly, my stomach was growling for food.

I called room service to order breakfast and jumped into the shower for a quick wash-up.

I got out and got dressed. While putting on my clothes, again I got the feeling of sandpaper being dragged over my skin except for my shirt: the silk slid smooth over my skin without irritation.

I sat at the hotel room desk to try to figure out what was going on while I waited for my breakfast. Now that the smell of sex was gone there was a stronger smell…her smell. It was strong enough to make me think that Marie was back in the room with me.

The smell was something from my childhood, something reverent. That’s when it hit me. Incense. That’s what her perfume reminded me of, the incense that was burned in church when I was a boy. I remember that it was only burned on special holy days and at funerals. The incense was always burned at funerals, used to bless the body and the casket of the departed. Why would someone want to smell like that?

My skin was sensitive, my smelling was acute, and my head and muscles ached. She obviously slipped me some kind of drug, like a mickey. Why would she do that? What did she give me?

I needed to find her and find out. With the security clearance our company has with the governor, the last thing I can afford is to fail a random drug test. I needed to find her for that reason. I kept trying to tell myself that that was the only reason I wanted to find her.

How could I find her? Where would I start? I could go back to the bar and ask François, but I didn’t think I would get very far there.

I looked at my laptop. I’d do what every adult and most children would do, I went to Google. But did I have enough information to start? What did I know about her?

I had the tattoo. Reaching for a pencil and some paper, I sketched out the design. The beautiful rose wrapped around the threatening dagger was an unnerving site. It looked vaguely familiar, but I couldn’t place it.

As I sat looking at the picture, I suddenly picked up the scent of body odor. It was very slight at first, but it was getting stronger. I checked myself and smelled nothing. I looked around the room for the source to no avail.

When the scent got to the point where I felt I was surrounded by it, there was a knock at the door. The sound made me jump…I was overly sensitive to sights, sounds and odors, not to mention the strange feeling of my skin.

I answered the door to a man in his early twenties pushing a cart with my breakfast. I found the source of the smell. And while I could smell the body odor coming from my server, the smell for some reason wasn’t unpleasant…in fact it was almost pleasant. When did BO become a pleasing smell?

I told my server to put the cart next to the desk while I contemplated this latest fact.

“Are you a fan?” my server asked me, breaking my concentration.

“Excuse me?” I answered.

“I asked if you were a fan?” he said again while pointing at the drawing on my desk. “You don’t look the type.”

“Do you recognize that?” I asked excitedly.

“Sure” the young waiter responded, “That’s the symbol for Anarch.”

“Anarch,” I questioned, “what is Anarch?”

“It’s only one of the best Goth bands to play in New Orleans. Have you been to a show?”

I thanked him and escorted him out the door with a tip so that I could have some time to consider this new piece of information.

A Goth band. Could that be it? Was she nothing more than a Goth groupie? She was beautiful, but it would explain the dress and the weird actions. It would also explain where she would get the drugs that she obviously slipped me.

I turned to the laptop and entered the name Anarch into the Google search box and hit enter.

As I nibbled on my breakfast, I noticed that the smell of BO was gone but was replaced again by Marie’s peculiar scent. I also noticed that I didn’t smell my breakfast. Come to think of it, I didn’t really taste it either.

This was getting strange. It was then I decided to put all of this down in my journal to help me straighten things out.

I need to get to the convention center. I will try to sneak out early so I can have some time to sit and thank and then I will decide how I’ll go about finding Marie.

Of course, I’m still not sure what I’m going to do once I find her.


	2. The First Evening

Thank God I'm back in my room. I don't remember the New Orleans sun being that brutal. When I walked out of the hotel earlier this morning, the sun nearly blinded me. It was just as bad coming back to the hotel. And my face feels like it has sunburn even though I couldn't have been in the sun for more than 15 minutes all day.

After dropping my things on the bed, I went to the laptop and sat thinking of where to start. I needed to eat but wanted information first. I couldn't spend much time on the computer until I ate. I've been so hungry all day; it's been hard to concentrate. Even with 2 full meals and quite a few snacks throughout the day, it seems like I can't satisfy the hunger I'm feeling.

I did a quick Google search for the band Anarch. The results showed 1,174,839 entries.

This is about normal when you consider reviews, news articles, regular websites dedicated to the band as well as all of the Twitter, Facebook and blog sites that mention the group.

A quick perusal of the most recent data showed that the band was playing tonight at a club called The Cathedral. I had to meet with David and Harry to take a few prospects out to dinner, but that shouldn't last too long and the band didn't start playing until 11:00.

I still wasn't feeling great, but a quick shower and some food should pep me up enough to make the show. I figured that was as good a place as any to look for Marie.

As I was about to walk to the bathroom, I noticed that Google was also showing a second profile whose counter read 11,285 pages so far. A quick look showed what appeared to be an ancient religion or cult. Obviously, this is where the band got their name.

I was about to delete these search results, but then decided to leave it.. Maybe Google would show the connection from the band to this cult.

After a quick shower, I was off to the restaurant. As hungry as I was, nothing on the menu appealed to me. I still wasn't feeling good and my nostrils were being assaulted by the various smells of…people. Not the exotic food from the restaurant's kitchen, but of all the people in the restaurant.

Like today, in the Convention Center. It seemed like I could smell each individual person and could attach each odor to its owner. Perfumes, colognes, deodorants, I could place them all. Then there was the smell of sickness. Its hard to explain, but I could smell someone's illness. I don't know how I knew it, but I did.

Most disturbing of all, though were the women. Not all of the women, just the menstruating ones. I could smell that strong and pungent smell on them. That, however, is not what was disturbing. What was disturbing was the fact that I was somewhat aroused by that particular odor.

What was wrong with me? I was obviously suffering the after effects of whatever Marie had slipped me. I should probably go back to my room and try to sleep this off. But, this was maybe my best chance of finding Marie. I had to go to that club.

As I left the restaurant, I was thankful to see that the sun was nearly set and I was starting to feel better. Except for the fact that, despite the full meal and dessert I just ate, I was growing even more hungry.

I found myself approaching the club around 10:30. I thought that if she was a groupie, then Marie would probably be there early. Of course, she may be backstage with the band, but there was nothing I could do about that.

As I approached the club, I began to get nervous. The kinds of people hanging around the club were not the kind I hung with at my Saturday night poker games.

I realized my tan pants, white shirt and blue blazer was going to stick out among all of the black leather and lace. My face was also lacking the heavy makeup and piercing that seemed to adorn the many faces that were looking back at me.

I was hoping I would be able to find Marie without having to ask around. If I started asking around for someone in this crowd, I would no doubt be marked as a cop at best. Those who didn't think of me as a cop may look at me as an easy target, just like Marie had done the night before.

Upon reaching the club, I began to notice two distinct groups of attendees. The first and, by far, most numerous were the nouveau Goths. This group was done up in dark, heavy makeup. Their dress had a Halloween-like feel to it and they looked as if they were going to a book signing with my beloved Anne Rice.

The second, smaller group was much different. Members of this group looked older, but not in age since some appeared to be no more than fifteen, but their eyes. Their stares looked much older.

This group lacked the gaudy make-up, but still had the Goth-like look upon their faces. And their clothes looked…authentic. And they looked comfortable in their clothes like they've been wearing them since they were first in vogue a hundred years ago.

At first, I don't know why I even noticed the difference in the groups. Then I realized that it was how they noticed me that separated them.

While the costumed-laced revelers looked upon me in my suit with a kind of humor and disdain, the other group seemed to follow me with their looks.

Some stared at me while others simply nodded or even gave a little smile. They all seemed to look at me with some kind of knowing glance that made me feel that I was somehow a kindred spirit to them.

I shook off this feeling and pushed my way into the club.

The first thing that hit me was the smell. Incense, again. That makes sense in a club called The Cathedral.

The club was housed in what was at one time a glorious church that closed its doors due to the decreased number of faithful in the parish. It was un-consecrated and sold at auction.

Inside, the décor was that of a church including statues of the saints, wrought iron chandeliers and a stage in place of the high altar. 

The owners were probably burning incense to help add the authenticity of the place. If Marie hung out here enough, this scent would easily get stuck in her clothes and cling to her skin.

It was then that I realized that the incense smell seemed to be emitting from some of the attendees like the body odor coming from some of the others.

Every time I followed the scent to its source, I found one from the "comfortable" group and they always seemed to be staring at me with that knowing look. I was becoming decidedly un-comfortable with the comfortable group.

I circulated around the club looking for any sign of Marie. My increased sense of smell was little help since the only fragrance I can match with her was the incense smell that seemed to be coming from at least a dozen of the concert goers.

The crowd began to surge as the lights coming from the faux candles in the black chandeliers began to dim. Movement on the stage signaled that the band was about to start and still I had no sign of Marie.

Anarch started and the noise pierced into my brain. While I'm no old timer, it was difficult to recognize what I was hearing as music. The sound was loud, fast and harsh. The lead vocalist began screaming the lyrics rather than singing them.

When I looked up to the stage to see what kind of man could make such sounds, I was taken aback. The man was nothing what I expected. While his skin was pale and his long, curly hair was black, he didn't look like a Goth. 

He wore no shirt and had on black pants and boots and almost looked like Jim Morrison in the day of The Doors. He wore no make-up and had no tattoos or piercing that I could see.

His face was young. It could almost be described as angelic. He was breathtaking. I knew, from the Google search that I looked over, that he went by the stage name Lazarus.

As he screamed into the microphone, he seemed to look at the crowd like he knew every one of them. No eyes closed or pointing to the sky. This guy was making eye contact with everyone he looked at.

The crowd began pumping fists, throwing their heads back and forth and wriggling their bodies in time with the music. That's when I noticed that some of the crowd wasn’t in time with the music…at least not completely.

The main rhythm of the song matched the majority of the gyrating crowds, but I was hearing a back beat that didn't quite match the song or the crowd. I thought maybe I was hearing something in the background or maybe imagining this song within a song.

I looked around to see who else noticed this and was sorry as soon as I did. My new friends, the comfy crowd, all seemed to be swaying and moving in time with each other, but at a different tempo then the rest of the audience.

I watched this group and tried to concentrate on the other noise and soon was able to pick up the rhythm in time with their movements. Soon I was hearing a whole different song and the original thrash music was just background noise.

I looked around to be sure that everyone else was still banging their heads to the original song, but the other group, my group, had a song all to themselves.

It was a haunting sound that shook me to my soul. The voice was beautiful, but seemed to be balancing on the edge of a razor. 

I looked up at the stage and the singer was looking right at me. He locked my gaze and I felt as if I was falling under a spell. My eyes closed as I swayed to the mysterious music and began to feel not unlike the feeling of being in Marie's presence…

Marie! My eyes shot open and I quickly turned around just as I saw a figure near the stage heading out a side door. From the back, it looked like Marie but I couldn't be sure until she turned her head back and smiled at me.

I hastily started pushing my way through the crowd hoping to reach the door before I lost sight of my target.

I made it through the door and saw the hallway which Marie was walking down. Her dress was a severe contrast to the sea of black I'd just left. It was white with one bare shoulder and a gold braided belt around her waist. This made me think again how Marie looked Egyptian…except for the paleness of her skin.

Her hair was in one, long braid and tossed over her one covered shoulder. As I approached her, I noticed another tattoo, this one on the back of her bare shoulder.

I didn't remember seeing this one last night, but then there are many things from last night that are not clear in my head.

This tattoo was different than the one I saw up close and personal last night. Where the first one had the beautiful artwork of a Renaissance piece, this one looked like it would be more at home on a Nazi SS uniform.

The ink was all black. The design appeared to be a "T" with triangles moving down the vertical and a type of fanfare hanging from the horizontal. 

When I finally was close enough, I grabbed her arm and turned her around.

"Michael", she smiled, "I'm so happy to see you here. I didn't realize you were a fan. Are you hungry?" she asked as she turned back to the door she had reached.

"Yes, as a matter of fact, I am" I answered, "but first I'd like to ask you a few things".

"I'm sure. Would you like some dinner?"

"What I'd like" I responded tersely, "is some answers!"

"Well, if you'll come with me, I'll see if I can fulfill both of your needs at once." With that she was through the door and I was left alone in the hallway.

The last time I was alone with Marie, things didn't work out so well. But, if I didn't follow her, I may never get the answers I needed from her. And, it seemed, the longer I waited, the more questions I was coming up with.

I decided to follow her into the room, but I certainly wasn't going to accept anything to eat or drink from her. The last thing I needed at this point was for her to slip another mickey in my drink.

The room beyond the door was dark and the quickly moving shadows showed me that the light in this space came from candles. I closed the door and began to focus in the dimly lit room.

In the center of the room was a man, naked and sprawled out on a lounge. What I at first took to be a dark space in the room focused into a naked woman with skin the color of milk chocolate and hair dyed a deep bronze. 

The woman had her back to me and was straddled across the man's thighs riding up and down on him while kissing the man's neck and chest. I could see a tattoo on her lower back but it was too dark to make out any of the details.

The sound of a wet kiss drew my attention to the man's side where another woman knelt on the ground beside him. 

While clothed in what appeared to be tight, black leather pants, she was topless and her very ample bosom was pressed into his ribs. The short, blonde hair was cut in a severe style. The tattoo that seemed to cover her entire shoulder and upper arm also hinted of masculinity in this woman.

The man appeared to be fondling this blonde's breast, but then I realized that the woman was holding his hand close and appeared to be kissing him up and down his arm. 

I looked around the room for Marie but didn't see her. While the tightening in my pants was drawing me forward, I fought off the feeling. I would not cheat on my wife again. Rita may forgive me for one slip over 16 years, but not a second in as many nights.

I began looking around for another exit out of the room, trying to be quiet so as to not draw unwanted attention to myself.

Suddenly, both women stood up and away from the man so I got my first real glimpse of him.

He lay there, naked and stretched out. His skin, like so many in this Goth world, was pale and I could see dark spots on his neck and chest that appeared to be some kind of artwork.

Realizing the absurdity of just standing there like some voyeur, I decided to ask the man if he noticed Marie walk through the room. Though, with what he had going on on his own, I doubted he would notice Godiva herself riding naked through the ménage a trios' room on horseback.

In the closer candle light, the pale skin looked sicklier then the milk colored skin that those like Marie had. Then I noticed that the artwork on his chest that I thought was a tattoo was moving...running would be a better term.

The coppery smell that hit me made my stomach leap and I realized that it was blood running down the man's chest and dripping down his arm. The pale skin that looked like illness a minute ago now had the pallor of death.

My first reaction should have been to run, to get out of the room and away from the club, but it wasn't. I stared in fascination at the blood and my mouth went dry as my stomach flipped upon itself again. I felt drawn to the man and was about to take a step towards him when I felt a presence close at my side.

"Hungry Michael?" I turned to see the beautiful black woman, still naked, standing beside me. Her eyes glowed red to match the blood that was running down the sides of her mouth and dripping onto her breasts.

I spun to run out of the room, but the last thing I remember was connecting face first with the door jam. Then there was nothing but blackness.


	3. Revelation

Incense…It must have been the incense. I didn’t eat or drink anything so they couldn’t have fed me a drug, but the overpowering smell must be some sort of hallucinogen. The strong scent in the clothes and skin must have been enough to give me some kind of a contact high.

As I lay there in bed with my eyes closed, I went through the events of last evening…the hypnotic song in a song, following Marie through the club, the threesome and then the drug induced vision of the bleeding man and the woman with the red eyes.

Sex, drugs and rock and roll, was that it? Is this just the game of some group of drug taking, nymphomaniac Goth groupies that I have somehow been pulled into?

I don’t know how I got back into my room last night, but I’m pretty sure I spent the evening alone this time.

I needed to get out of bed and figure out what I was going to do. I walked over to the window and opened the curtain. The sun shone in and it felt like knives going through my head.

I quickly pulled the curtain shut, but the after effects of the sunlight burned in my eyes and on my skin. I must have suffered a concussion when I ran into the door frame in that room last night.

I walked into the bathroom to take an inventory of myself. Where I expected to see a lump and maybe a laceration on my head from the prior evening's impact, I saw not even a mark. I rubbed the area and I didn’t even feel any tenderness.

So, maybe I didn’t hit my head as hard as I thought. Maybe the small impact was enough to knock me out when combined with the effects of whatever drug these people were putting into my system.

As I continued to look myself over in the mirror, I noticed the pallor of my skin was noticeably paler than I was used to. I was obviously getting sick from the exposure of foreign substances in my system.

My stomach again ached with the feeling of hunger, but the thought of eating breakfast made the ache in my belly turn and flip like I was on a sailboat in the middle of a storm.

I was going to have to go to the doctor. I needed to know what was in me and what effect it was having on my body.

I made a call to Harry to make sure he and David could handle the show today without me. My next call was to the concierge desk to get the recommendation for a doctor. I called the number given to me and scheduled an appointment for an hour later.

The doctor’s office was within walking distance so, after a quick shower I dressed and headed out the door.

The daylight hit me like a freight train. Even with the extra dark, polarized sunglasses that set me back almost $200 in the gift shop, the sun burned my eyes and made my head sear.

I instantly began to sweat and had the smothering feeling of being in a sauna with all of my clothes on. Luckily, the office was not too far away.

As I walked, I had that feeling of being watched. I tried to sort through the multiple odors that were assaulting me from the many people walking around.

Then I caught it; a very faint smell of incense. I was instantly alert and began looking around me. That’s when I saw him.

Across the street, leaning against a mailbox was a beautiful man. He had on black jeans and a white shirt that was un-tucked and unbuttoned to reveal a bare chest that was adorned with nothing but a crucifix.

I recognized him, but couldn’t remember how. He took off his sunglasses and looked straight at me. I knew in an instant who it was. I was staring at Lazarus, the lead singer from Anarch.

He continued staring and smiling and there was no mistaking that he was looking at anyone but me.

I turned to cross the street. I didn’t know what I was doing, but I felt I needed to talk to him.

I checked left and right for oncoming traffic and when I turned back to cross, he was gone. I ran across the street and spun around looking for him. I was in the middle of the block and a scan up and down the sparsely populated sidewalk showed no sign of him. It was as if he just disappeared.

Could this be more after effects from the narcotic or is this just another step in this game they were playing with me? I wasn’t sure, but I was sure that the longer I stood here in the sun, the worst I felt. I finished the walk to my appointment.

After giving a list of my ailments and symptoms to the doctor, I also voiced my concern about some kind of narcotic as well as a possible concussion.

He started with a urine sample and a battery of blood tests to check my blood count and blood sugar as well as a screening for most illegal drugs. He also added that he would do a check for all of the standard sexually transmitted diseases. Great, I hadn’t even thought of that one.

Once he got his samples he began his physical exam. After taking my blood pressure, he stared at his read out with a confused look. He took it again and apparently got the same results by the look on his face.

He next took his stethoscope and listened to my chest and back.

“Do you normally have low blood pressure”, he asked.

“I guess, but I didn’t think it was a big deal. Is there a problem”, I queried.

“It’s just that I had a real hard time getting a reading. Your pressure is fine, but you heart beat is so slow I was almost missing it. If it were any slower I would have thought you were dead”.

After finishing with that he checked for signs of a concussion which he couldn’t find. The rest of the exam was just as unremarkable.

“I know you’re from out of town, so I’ll see if I can’t get a rush on your blood work. We have a lab right here in the building and I can probably get the results back by before we close today. Can I call you on your cell phone with the results?”

“That would be great, doc, thanks”, I said as I stood and began to get dressed. Now, what to do next? I needed to find Marie, but where was I supposed to look next?

I could enter the name Marie into Google search along with the band’s name to see what cross references I could get. Of course, there were thousands of possibilities that could come up with that. And, of course, I didn’t even know if Marie was her real name. I needed a better plan.

As I started to pull on my shirt, my doctor made a comment about my tattoos. “You know, we have some really great tattoo shops here in New Orleans. You really should try to check some of them out”.

Of course, Marie’s tattoos! The artwork had already led her to me once, why not again. I can check out the shops in town and ask around. How many women in New Orleans can match Marie’s description and have those two tattoos?

“Thanks doc. That’s a great idea”, I answered.

I left the office and turned back towards my hotel. I was still not feeling well and I needed to get out of this sun before I started feeling worse.

I decided to head back to the hotel and have a light lunch. No sense eating heavy since my stomach feels no different no matter the size of my meal. After that, I’d lie down for a nap. I’d go out looking for Marie tonight. It seems I felt much better last night after the sun went down.

As I walked, I again had the feeling of being watched, followed. I concentrated on the noises and was able to isolate a set of footsteps behind me that had matched my step and gate stride for stride.

Without stopping, I looked over my shoulder to see that I was being followed by Lazarus. He smiled and waved at me. He was very friendly for a hallucination.

After finishing off a salad adorned with some local shrimp, I went to my room for some sleep. I closed the blinds completely and turned off all of the lights to plunge my room into complete darkness. This seemed to drop the temperature in the room the few degrees that the air conditioning unit was unable to achieve.

I was asleep in no time. I’m not sure how long I was sleeping when I was awakened by a whisper. I’m not sure where it was coming from or what it was saying, but I heard it.

I opened my eyes and stared at the pitch black, concentrating on the sound. My nose was greeted by a smell that could only be described as wet fur. I turned to one side and saw, across the room, what appeared to be a set of red eyes staring back at me.

Afraid to move, I just lay there. The eyes blinked once, then disappeared. As the source of the whispering appeared to be coming from the other side of the room, I turned over in my bed and gazed in that direction. Another set of eyes peered back through the dark at me. After a few moments, these too blinked away.

I concentrated on the sound to see if I could see where it was coming from and what it was saying.

“Michael, come Michael”. I was being beckoned.

I stood in the dark room and looked around. The only thing I could make out clearly were the edges of the furniture and more eyes. The red eyes were appearing and blinking away all over the room.

I started towards the bathroom and what appeared to be the source of the whisper. As I approached the door, all of the eyes peering at me though the blackness all faded away.

There was definitely something on the other side of the door. I could hear it moving, breathing. I slowly swung the door into the room and was standing face to face with a figure.

In the darkness, I couldn’t make out much other than the outline of a figure, and the eyes. This set stared at me and did not blink, did not go away.

I stood there waiting for something, but I’m not sure what. I finally got the nerve to reach for the light switch. I wasn’t sure what I was going to see, but I wasn’t prepared to stand there and wait. I would see my fate face to face.

I switched on the light to find myself alone in the bathroom. Straight ahead of me was the mirror showing my own reflection looking back at me with red eyes.

The sound of my cell phone ringing woke me from my dream. The hallucinogen in my system was now causing nightmares. I could only hope the good doctor could figure out what was poisoning me and give me something to counteract it.

A look at the bedside clock showed that it was 4:45. The slivers of sunlight escaping from behind the curtain told me that it must me PM.

It was the doctor. “Michael, I’ve gotten back some of your blood work. Your red blood cells seem a bit high, but nothing to be too concerned about. The drug screens have all come back negative”.

“What does that mean, negative?” I asked.

“It means just what it sounds like, negative. There are no traces of any kind of illegal substance showing up in your system. If you were asked to take a surprise drug test you’d pass with flying colors”.

“How can that be? What about my upset stomach? What about the headaches and sweating? What about the hallucinating and the nightmares”?

“Nightmares”, he repeated, “that’s new. Michael these symptoms are not just caused by drugs. These are also caused by stress. Look, you told me yourself that you’ve been traveling way too much lately and you’re missing your family. Then, after your little rendezvous with your mysterious young woman, you’re completely off kilter. Your system is on overload and it’s telling you to slow down and take it easy”.

“I don’t have all of your tests back yet, but I should have the STD test tomorrow before you leave for home. That way you’ll have one less thing to worry about, or at least have time to figure out what to do”.

“Thanks”, I mumbled distractedly.

“By the way”, the doctor added, “have you ever registered with the rare blood directory? Blood like yours is hard to come by and you could probably save someone’s live one day”.

“Rare blood directory”, I asked, “since when is A+ a rare blood”?

“A+ isn’t, but you aren’t A+. You have RH17 blood. That blood type belongs to something like 1 out of every 150,000 people. You’re quite unusual Mike”.

“Thanks again, doc”, I said as I hung up the phone.

I had to find Marie.

A quick search on Google and I had a list of tattoo parlors in New Orleans. The good doctor was right, there were quite a few.

Tattoo shops in general tend to attract a very dark crowd. In a town in New Orleans where Goth was commonplace, then I wondered what exactly I would run into tonight.

I did my best to pick something from my limited wardrobe to help blend in. A pair of black jeans with a white silk shirt that I would leave untucked and with the sleeves rolled up. Not exactly ready to start my own band, but I wouldn’t stand out like a store thumb.

As I left the building, the sun was beginning to set and I was feeling like my old self. In fact, I was feeling better than that. I felt strong, alert and full of energy. There was no doubt that there was a drug in my system that was wearing off. Obviously the blood tests couldn’t test for everything and they had just missed it.

With the list in hand, I began my trek from one tattoo parlor to the next. I wasn’t quite sure what I would find, but I was hoping something would jump out at me. Maybe I’d see Marie or one of the ladies from last night. Maybe I’d recognize a tattoo on display. I didn’t have much to go on, but it was all I had.

As I went from shop to shop, I was happy to see that I was right about my change of clothes. While I wasn’t immersed with local crowds in and around the shop, at least I wasn’t attracting any unwanted attention.

My search for the first hour and a half was fruitless. The shops were giving nothing up. From the look of the building, to the clientele and artists, to the samples on the wall, the shops were all but identical except in name. That was until I reached Bloodlines.

On the outside, it looked like the last half dozen parlors I visited. As I approached the door, the hair on the back of my neck began to rise and my pulse quickened to an alarming rate.

I pushed open the door and was immediately overpowered by the scent of incense. I had to be on to something here. There would be no need for me to take out my sketches and describe Marie. She had been here before. I don’t know how I knew it, but I did.

The man behind the counter looked up and acknowledged me with a familiar gesture that made me think of my “comfy” group last night.

“So”, he started, “are you here for your mark”?

Since he began a conversation with me, there was no need for me to bring it to a halt by telling him he had the wrong guy. “Yep, that’s me”

“Head on back”, he said as he nodded his head in the direction of the open doorway next to the desk as he went back to the magazine spread out in front of him.

I walked into a room that was filled with tables and chairs that looked like every other tattoo parlor I had been in.

I stood alone in the room wondering what I was supposed to do when my friend from the front desk stuck his head into the room. “Not this room, in there”. He pointed to a closed door against the back wall.

A man stood in this room at the stainless steel counter. He was mixing colors and spoke to me without looking away from his work.

“Let me guess. On you back, right? Take off your shirt”.

The smell of incense was strong here and I was beginning to feel lightheaded. I felt like I was on to something and didn’t want to stop until I had some answers. If it meant getting another tattoo to get those answers then so be it.

I took off my shirt and sat into one of the massage chairs. The artist walked over to me and placed the ink and needle gun on the tray next to the seat.

“No rubber gloves”, I asked as he prepared the tools.

He laughed. “I’m not too worried about catching anything from you.

“Aren’t you going to ask me what kind of tattoo I want”? I asked.

“I already know”, was his only response.

It seemed like the longer I sat in this close proximity, the more I had the feeling of lightheadedness. My mind struggled as it was making the connection of the incense and the hypnotic feeling. I remembered that it was like this with Marie and again in The Cathedral.

I tried to concentrate to see if I could make some connection to any narcotic that I knew, but my mind finally gave in and I sat there in a happy stupor.

He picked up the gun and walked behind me. The man gave what can best be described as a long hiss and backed away from me. He slowly walked back to me and began to run his finger around the tattoos that already decorated my back.

“So”, he said in a low, menacing voice, “the hunter has become the hunted. How sweet this is”.

I struggled with coherency to try to put some kind of meaning to what he was saying, but to no avail.

He began his work in the center of my back between my shoulder blades. My mind knew that this should hurt, but instead it felt wonderful. I was beginning to feel aroused by the pleasure/pain combination.

As he worked I noticed something else felt different as well. Most artists will draw for a few moments and then wipe the area clean from blood so that they can see what they are doing, then return to drawing.

Instead of blotting my skin with a towel or gauze, it felt like he was pressing his lips to my back and licking the area clean so that he could continue his work.

Part of my mind knew that I should be bothered by this, knew that I should jump up in protest, but I couldn’t. I didn’t want to. I was under a spell and willing or not, I sat there in a blissful state.

“All done”, he said after a time. I don’t know how long since I had lost track of time. I felt as if I was coming down from whatever high I was on and began struggling with the entire situation.

He walked to the counter and brought back a large, handheld mirror and stood behind me. He pointed to a wall mounted mirror in front of me where I could see the mirror held in his hand and the new tattoo on my back.

It was the flowered dagger, the one that I first saw on Marie, the symbol of Anarch. I was about to protest what he did to me when the door to the room opened.

In walked Lazarus followed closely by Marie.

The tattoo artist dropped his eyes to the floor and bowed his head as they walked into the room.

“Leave us”, Lazarus said to the artist.

“Yes, Prefect”, was the only response as he put down the mirror and rushed out of the room.

Marie stayed in front of me as Lazarus walked behind me to admire my new tattoo.

“It’s quite beautiful, Michael”, he began, “but quite a contrast with the runes that now surround it. I don’t think your Grandmother is going to be very happy”.

“Who are you and what do you want with me? And what do you know of my Grandmother”?

“There’s plenty of time to answer all of you questions, Michael. You have nothing but time”.

“I want answers now”, I yelled at both of them as he came back in front of me to stand next to Marie. “What have you been slipping me? What did you drug me with”?

“Michael”, Marie cooed quietly as she walked up to me and traced her finger around my face and down my neck, “I didn’t give you any illegal narcotics. You know that, your doctor even told you so. But you are right about there being something in your system”.

“What are you talking about? What do you mean? What have you done to me?” I was beginning to panic and felt near hysteria.

“Michael, you have much to learn now”, Lazarus began, “and as all new childers, you are very upset and confused. Do not worry my little neonate; I will take good care of you”.

“I don’t want you to do anything to me,” I yelled as tears began to run down my face. “I want to know what you’ve done to me”.

“Michael”, Marie said to me as if I were a toddler, “you have been embraced. You are now a Kindred”.

“A what”, I asked, almost implored, “What are you talking about”?

Lazarus walked up to me and put his hands on either side of my face. He turned my face up to look at his. His eyes had just a hint of the red glare I had seen on those people over the last two days.

He said, “You are a vampire, Michael. Welcome to the family”.


End file.
